


Poof

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-13
Updated: 2002-02-13
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Sh*t, it worries me how much I need this.  I just know I don't deserve it, and I fully expect it to be taken away from me. But until then, I'm going to pretend like he's mine. For good.





	Poof

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Poof

## Poof

#### by David S.

Title: Poof  
Author: David S.  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy/  
Date Archived: 02/13/02  
Category: Unclassified  
Pairing (Primary): Mulder/Krycek  
Pairing(s) (Secondary):   
Crossover Fandom (if any):   
Crossover Info (if any):   
Other Pairing Info:   
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Just about every Krycek episode. Get caught up, ya lazy bums. ;)  
Permission to Archive: Probably. Just ask first so I know who's babysittin' the kids.  
Series or Sequel/Prequel:   
Notes: Krycek has two arms in this despite it taking place after the kiss in "The Red and the Black." If that bugs you, may I suggest you drink a few shots of tequila before reading. It may or may not improve the story, but you'll be a lot happier regardless. ** I am posting this for David S., my amazingly wonderful and talented hubby. And he's a good writer, too. He wrote this as his Valentine's Day gift to all M/K fans and all lovers everwhere. Please direct all private feedback to him. Thanks!! ** Dedicated to: Mik and Jax. A toast to you two. May you forever let yourselves love each other. You're an inspiration to us all. Satina & Shan. I'm so crazy about you both. You know that. I just wanted to say. ;) :) Happy First Valentine's Day to us! The first of many. :)  
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: Someone other than me owns the X-Files. Or so I've been told.  
Summary: Sh*t, it worries me how much I need this. I just know I don't deserve it, and I fully expect it to be taken away from me. But until then, I'm going to pretend like he's mine. For good.

* * *

"And love, love is not the easy thing. The only baggage you can bring is all that you can't leave behind."---U2 

Chapter One 

I'm excited. I can't help it. I hate myself, I'm so excited. I'm standing here in a dark room lit only by the harsh light from a computer monitor. I hold my hand up to the monitor and look at it, trying to keep it steady. It's trembling. God, I hate this. 

And. I love it! Who are you kidding, Alex Krycek? Mirror. Mirror. None here, it's an office, dumbfuck. Ah. Tilting the monitor slightly, I catch a glimpse of my face. My hair is almost perfect. Just tousle it a bit. 

Who am I? It's like every single fucking time I get around him, I stop being me. I dig into the inner pocket of my jacket and pull out a beat-up, dog-earred photograph of him. Mulder. He's smiling, standing next to, who else, Scully. Bitch. Every single time... The bastard hijacks the real me and replaces me with.... I don't KNOW! This _fake_ Krycek who trembles and sweats and wants those lips and hands and....ok stop, you stupid fuck. It'll never happen. Got it? It'll NEVER happen. 

And that's why you do this. What is this? Look at yourself. Date night? God, when did you lose yourself, man? When did you become a loser? The first time I saw him, I guess. It was the happiest and saddest day of my life. Because I knew from the way that he looked at _her_ that I could never have him. Not me. Not after what I've done. A thief, a liar, a _killer._ I can't hijack him the way he does me when he looks at me. Hell, he doesn't even have to look at me. But when he does.... even in anger... I forget... I _forget_ I'm a bad person somehow. Even when he's trying to remind me, it all fades to a blissful white and my crimes are washed away like the grime from the street flowing into the gutter from a cold spring evening rain. I just see him and me, and I can pretend I have a chance. He's talking to me. (You're a coward, Krycek!) He's touching me. (You killed my father, you bastard!) 

I can hear it raining outside, actually. I wish it were that simple. That I could baptize myself with God's tears and start over again. Do things right. But it's never that easy, is it, God? You never do the wretched any favors. I have to do for myself. Take for myself. It's what I've always done, and quite humbly, I think I'm pretty good at it. But he's one that I can't just take. 

What time is it? 8:13. He really should be here by now. Where is he? I start to pace the room. He's going to be here. I know he is. I left a trail that a pro wrestler could follow. 

The doorknob rattles, announcing his arrival. He's here. He's here! My heart does a few flip-flops and I smile. Attaboy, Mulder. Gotta get my gameface on. I run my fingers through my hair and bat my eyelashes. Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful and I killed your father, Mulder. Ok, disc. Disk. 

I put it in the computer, like I've just downloaded a butt-load of classified documents. In reality, it's full of South Park animations. Heehee, it's a really funny show. Wonder if Mulder watches it. Nahhh, I know how he spends his free time. For a second, I picture us watching it together, laughing at something stupid, his arm around my shoulder. A wave of nauseating sadness goes through my body. 

Pull it together, Krycek. This is what you have. This is what you get. He's your everything, and this is what he allows you to have. His fist in your gut. Take it like a man. Heh. And he.... well, he's the man who has everything, you could say... Me, Scully....it's his for the taking. 

He's trying to pick the lock but is taking his sweet time about doing it. Fuck, Mulder, I'd be in by now. I plop down in the chair and play with different poses. Feet on the desk, gun pointed at him? Hmmmm, arrogant, sure, but a little too predictable. Holding the disk, shock? Why, Mulder. What are you doing here in Hong Kong? Ah. Gun in desk. I pull it open and point it at him. That's nice. I look at my watch. Four freakin' minutes have passed. Shit, Mulder, hurry the fuck up! 

I get up and walk to the door. I think maybe I can unlock it without him knowing it. Then we can get on with this thing. Jesus. Then I hear the clack of the lock giving way and I jump to the side, hugging the wall. Whaddya know? Friday night at the Improv. Tip your servers. 

The door opens, slowly, cautiously. He's got to be noticing the glow of the computer monitor. He's holding on to his gun tightly. Ha. I can see about five different ways to get him to drop his gun, and one of them involves copious amounts of tickling. Not that it matters. He always puts it down so he can beat me with his bare hands. Always. It's one of the things I love about him. 

How many times have we done this? Met in the dark, fumbled, our hands on each other's bodies, fighting, desperately.... Well, he fights, I just kinda lie down and try to look like a wounded puppy. Once I kissed him. No tongue, but damn if I didn't think about it, then and every lonely night since then. 

He's looking around, but he doesn't spot me. Yet. He makes it to the desk and starts going through the mess of files and papers that I've arranged for him. 

Let's see. How shall I play this? Anger? Cool? Funny? Sexy? All of the above? Heh. 

He sits down in the chair and starts typing, obviously looking for the files that I've teased him with. Aliens, always aliens. The things I do for that big fucker. 

I take a step forward. "Looking for the x-rated Solitaire?" I say with a growling smile. This is the best part. He looks up at me and the look on his face when he recognizes me! Like he's angry, but he's also excited, invigorated even, just to see me. My pulse races. 

"Krycek!" He raises his weapon at me, but I don't bother even looking at it. It's the color of his eyes I'm interested in. It's like a storm at sea in those eyes of his. I want to drown in it. Maybe I will. Drown, I mean. "I should have known I'd find you here," he spits. "You're getting sloppy, Krycek. The paper trail you left in Prague was just pathetic. Now put your hands up in the air." 

I comply, a wry grin on my face. "And wave 'em around like I just don't care?" I deadpan. He's going to put down his gun. 5...4...3...2...1.... 

"You think this is funny, Krycek?" he roars, throwing his gun down on the desk and rushing around it. Am I good or what? I brace myself and he tackles me. We both fall to the ground and roll till I let him land on top. I kinda like him there. Then his fist slams into my face, the pain his gift to me. The only thing he'll give me. It's ok. I'll take it. I swing at him wildly, pretending to be overpowered. 

"Thought...you'd... never... get here, Mulder." He hits me again and I grip one hand around his throat. I don't really want to hurt him, I just want to see how close I can get to touching his face. I hate you Mulder. I love you. All this I do... it's for you, Mulder. "I have the disk. You can have it." Punch. "Uhhhh, everything you ever wanted, Mulder. It's on the disk. And more." Like Cartman singing "In the Ghetto." 

He stops hitting me and just rests his body weight on me, breathing hard. His whole body is hard. "What's your angle? What do you hope to get out of this, Krycek?" 

You mean besides my dick in your mouth? Oh, not much. Oh, you mean in real life. Well, I'll just have to settle for this. You on top of me, my dick getting hard between the taut muscles of your thighs. Trying desperately to think of a way to keep you here, knowing I'll fail like I always do. 

"I want the same things as you do." I can only wish. "Mulder..." I blink my eyelashes, wondering if he'll notice. "That disc is just the beginning. There's stuff out there that would blow your mind, Mulder." The fire in his eyes flames brighter. "Stuff I can get." Please? 

He lifts up off of me and I feel stupid and cheap. "Like I could ever trust you, Krycek," he says to a file cabinet. He'd rather look at a hunk of office furniture than gaze at me. 

"Mulder, what I'm offering you..." I pull myself up and take two steps in his direction, my hand poised to touch his shoulder. I picture myself touching him. Just a touch. People do it all the time. Except this time, I'd touch him, and he'd turn, his eyes softened. "Of course, Krycek," he'd say. "How could I have been so blind?" Then I'd hold that beautiful face, and we'd kiss.. Oh, how we'd we kiss! 

"The disk," he whispers. "Give it to me, and then get the fuck out of my sight. " 

Oh god. I'm so stupid. Anger? Fear? Funny? Arrogant? God, get it together. Don't you cry...Don't you DARE fucking cry! You will not cry, you piece of shit! Did you think things would change, like, abracadabra, poof!? Now say something! 

I smile without any trace of humor. "You i-idiot." My voice catches and I stop, biting the inside of my cheek. The physical pain buys me a few seconds to gloss over the emotional one. "You don't know what you're turning down--" 

The door slams open, and two figures emerge out of the shadows. Oh shit, great timing. Just great. The glimmer of the monitor light shines across their faces, revealing them. 

I'd know this couple anywhere. Tre and Micki. Two rival thieves of Chinese descent. Very dangerous. And obviously, they've found all of those same clues that I've left for Mulder. I'm just too good. 

"Friends of yours, Krycek?" Mulder says, trying to nonchalantly inch back to his gun. Fuck, I left mine in the desk. Part of my little game, and now it's going to get me killed. 

"Krycek?" Micki says, laughing. "Noooo.... We hate his guts. He's a very stupid man. And ugly. Stupid, ugly." 

Micki's the gabby one. Tre's the strong, silent, kick your ass type. They're fast. So fast, they'll make Mulder look like he's standing still while they kill him. 

Tre flashes across the room, and with a delicate grace, leaps up, his foot hitting my already sore face. Shit, distracted by you know who. I gotta get back in touch with my bad self if I'm going to get out of this with my life. 

From the corner of my eye, I see Micki strolling towards Mulder, stalking him like the cat she is. 

"I hope we're not interrupting your date, American. We didn't know Krycek had a boyfriend." Her leg kicks up and connects with Mulder's gut. "Good for him, I say!" 

I grab the desk lamp and turn, knowing Tre is two breaths away from me, ready to hit again. My instincts are correct, and the heavy black metal knocks him in the side of the head. He falls to the ground in a heap. I'm not sure if he's really down for good or not. I turn and reach for Mulder's gun, still laying on top of the desk. 

"Back off, date boy!" Micki yells, grabbing Mulder by his tie and swinging his body into mine. The weight of him pushes me back and away from Mulder's gun. Fuck! Normally, I'd enjoy this. Extra Bonus Mulder touching. We fall back against more file cabinets, and he looks up at me, dazed. 

Micki grabs the gun and puts it in her pocket. "I hate these things. So messy. So _not_ fun. Where's the disk, Krycek?" 

Tre is holding the side of his head and getting up. He'd look pissed if he wasn't so uptight. "Tell us, and we let you and your _partner_ live." 

"We... we're not partners," Mulder rasps, pushing away from me. "I hate him probably more than you do." 

"Guys, please, tell me how you really feel," I growl, starting to feel a kinship with Rodney Dangerfield. 

"The disk," Tre says, holding out his hand. 

"I..." It's my key to Mulder. Even if it is fake, if I give it to them, the divide between me and Mulder will be greater. Fuck, I can't do it. Mulder looks at me, to see if I'm going to betray him again. 

"Krycek, you're being a silly," Micki says, cackling. 

"Fine. We kill you then," Tre says plainly, his body shifting, tensing. 

Micki touches him on the arm. "Oh, Tre. What good will that do?" She eyes Mulder hungrily. "I think we need to take away his sweetmeat." Oh God, no. It takes everything to will my face not to reveal my terror. 

"No! Come on!" I yell, but in seconds, Tre has hit me three times in the gut and is pushing my back to the file cabinet. He has his arm on my throat and is crushing the life out of me. I pull at his arms, but it's no use. He's too strong. Mulder.... Mulder.... 

Micki has retrieved the lamp from the floor and swings it, laughing. The metal base cracks Mulder in the skull, and he collapses onto the floor. I feel droplets of blood sprinkle my face and the room starts spinning crazily. Gonna black out. 

Tre relaxes his grip. "Disk?" he says with snotty contempt. I look at Mulder lying motionless on the ground. Micki raises the lamp and her eyebrows. I nod towards the computer. "Over there... t-take it." 

"Well, that was easy," Tre says, smiling coldly. "Get it, Micki." 

"Yes sir, Tre, sir." She leans completely over the desk, her leg gracefully outstretched in the air, and plucks the disk out of the computer. "Well, that was a fun five minutes." 

"We should try it. See if it's got the information," Tre says to her. 

"I'm hungry. Pancakes! We'll kill him later if we don't like it. Right, Krycek? We can kill you later." 

I nod. "Yeah, kill me later." I lick my lips, tasting a mixture of my own blood with Mulder's. Please don't be dead, Mulder. I pull away from Tre and run to him. Tre looks at me, then laughs disgustedly. They leave us, and I kneel over his body, the tears coming despite my incredible need to keep it all inside. There's blood puddling around his head. 

I fumble around, feeling for a pulse on his wrist. Fucking watch in the way! The tears are rolling, finally released from the carefully constructed mental walls that I had created to distance myself from these feelings. He can't be gone. 

"Don't be gone," I gurgle. "D-don't." I get the watch off and feel for the beat of his blood throbbing. I feel it. Faint, but there. Thank you, God, thank you. 

I take my cell phone out of my pocket and make a call. It won't be easy moving his body out of here, but I have no choice. I can't leave him here. I look at him, his eyes shut, and I wish they'd open for me. I can't bear never being able to look into those eyes again. I'll save you, Mulder, I swear I will. Maybe there's a road out of hell yet. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

I wring out the washcloth under the running faucet, squeezing Mulder's blood out of it. I drench it in fresh cold water, then wring it out again. He's clean by now, I know he is, but I'm all nervous energy. I walk over to them. 

I called in a few favors and got an old pal, Cindy, to come over and help me. I couldn't have moved him without her. She used to be a vet back in the states before moving to Hong Kong, having become a popular watercolor artist here. I met her a long, long time ago, but she owes me. 

"Well?" I croak, wiping the sweat off my brow. She secures the bandage on his head, then stands up. 

"Geez, Alex, you really should get him to a doctor. A real doctor?" 

"I can't do that." I kneel in front of him and begin to dab the washcloth along his forehead. "He's doing ok, right?" 

"Well, his vitals are fine, but it looks like he may have a concussion. Are you going to tell me how this happened?" 

He looks so peaceful, gentle even. "I can't tell you that, Cindy. You wouldn't want to know, anyways, believe me." 

"Well, shit. I guess I've done all I can do then, Alex. Good thing you had some clothes that fit him." She begins to pick her things up off of the coffee table. "I've gotta go. I have a real life now. But I strongly suggest you take him to a hospital. He might have brain damage. You don't want to fuck around with this." 

I know that. Don't you think I know that? I want to scream in her face. But I fucked up. Big time. Once Micki and Tre find out that the disc is worthless, they'll come looking for me. Normally, it's no big deal. I could give a fuck. But they'll try to hurt me by killing Mulder. And they'll check the hospitals. It's the first place they'll look. His life won't be worth shit. How about that, Cindy? Huh? 

"Thanks for your help," I say tersely. She looks at me blankly. "You can go now." 

"I'll show myself the door." 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

"And you see, Mulder, this is Meg Ryan. Look at that outfit she's wearing." I point to her, wearing something she obviously ordered out of Gap for Trailer Hos. "It says here she won some sort of award, but it doesn't say for what. I'm guessing it's for sucking Russell Crowe's cock, but I can't be sure." 

Mulder lays there on my couch, his eyes shut. I'm changed into black sweats and a T-shirt. I've seated myself on the floor next to him, my back resting on a big, black bean bag, reading an old People magazine that was here when I moved in. I think I've read it to him five times now, back to back. Yeah, it's not the kind of magazine Mulder usually "reads," but it's all I've got. 

"And here's a picture of Oprah. She won an award, too, I guess. I don't think it had anything to do with Russell Crowe's cock. Well, who knows? I guess it could, I suppose. Oprah's an attractive woman. And Russell gets around. He'd probably let Carrot Top suck it." 

I turn the page and begin to read the story about brave little Tracey Gold. Man, I need to get some new magazines. Maybe I can bribe the kid next door to go buy me some. 

I sigh and close the magazine, looking at him. "You sick of this shit, Mulder? I know I am. Maybe I'll make us some of my world-famous stir-fry that I know you love. Well, you pretend to love it just to make me happy, don't you?" Hey, I'm taking care of him. I get to make up the delusions, ok? 

I throw the magazine onto the coffee table and look at his still hand. He has nice hands. I've really never gotten to look at them before. It's so hard when he's beating the shit out of me. Without thinking, I slide my hand over his and grip it softly. 

I breathe deep and shut my eyes. I want to savor this, this intimacy I don't deserve, this touch that I could not possibly earn. The air seems sweeter, somehow. Clearer. 

I look up at his face, resting peacefully. "You're so beautiful, Fox." I try out his first name. It feels pleasant rolling off my tongue. "Fox," I whisper my confession in his ear. "I know that I've done...shitty things....hah... I know you probably hate me. It's ok. I hate myself for what I've done to you. But I want you to know... I love you. Every time you hit me, every insult you spat at me... I never stopped loving you." I swallow, then lay my head on his arm, taking in his scent. 

We lay there, and I hold him as I cry. I cry for every fucking mistake I ever made and every fucking sin that I committed against Mulder. His shirt absorbs them all. I don't bother to adjust the blinds as the sun goes down. 

I awake in darkness, the steady breathing of Mulder next to me. I squint, looking at the digital clock. 2:01a.m. Gotta get a drink. I finally release my grip of Mulder's hand and push myself up. Gotta steady myself or I'll trip right over that damn leg on the coffee table. Whatta night. 

"D-don't..." A voice, gravelly, but urgent, whispers from Mulder's lips. 

I kneel back down in front of him. "F-, uh, Mulder? You there, buddy?" 

"Don't.... don't leave me," he whimpers, and then is silent. 

My hand goes back to his, squeezing it firmly. "No! No, I won't leave you, F-fox." I wait for him to correct me. He doesn't. "I'll stay as long as you want me to." He says nothing, but faintly, oh so faintly, he squeezes back, his fingers touching mine. One final tear, one I didn't know I had left, waters up in my eye. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

The sun blazes through the blinds like a white-orange headlight, and I hold my hand up, protecting my eyes. I feel panic, wondering if I dreamed him onto my couch. I look at him, but his eyes are still shut. Still here. I have to pull my hand away from him. He's actually gripping it. He's holding _my_ hand. 

"Be back in a minute, Fox. Gotta shut these motherfucking blinds." I shamble over to the windows and adjust the blinds, shutting out the light. Ahh, better. "You want a drink? Juice? Well, no, we better get you some water first. You drink some water, I'll get you some freshly bought orange juice. None of that expired crap you usually drink." I laugh at my own joke and walk to the fridge, opening it. 

I pour a glass of juice for myself and then down it quickly. I grab a bottled water and walk back to Sleeping Beauty. 

"Fox?" I ask, holding the nozzle of the water bottle up to his lips, a drop of water wetting his mouth. "Drink up," I say, tenderly. God, maybe I should take him in, despite the risk. Every minute he doesn't get the care he needs... Fuck, I'm going to have to. I can't risk that he's gone into a coma. 

"What are we going to do with you, Fox?" As I look at him, resting there, he _moves,_ slightly. And his tongue darts out, licking the drop of water on his lips. He lets out a cough, and I bring the bottle back. 

"Drink, drink!" I urge, and he sucks the water down slowly, coughing, lifting his head. "Easy, easy, Fox. Not too much." I pull it away, and he lets his head rest back down, his eyes blinking awake. 

He looks into mine, smiling. He looks different somehow. I've never seen him this...happy... in my presence. 

He licks the moisture off his lips. "Who," he croaks, then swallows. "Who are you?" 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Chapter Two 

Finally, I can rest. It's been a hell of a day. But a good one. I feel good in a way that I never have before. That I'm nurturing life instead of extinguishing it. It's weird. And I'm glad he's still out of it, asking me my name, where he is. When he's delirious, I can pretend that he likes me, cares about me. Pathetic, I know. Well, it's all I've got, and I'll take every fucking scrap I can get. 

I slink into my favorite comfy recliner, which is facing the couch and my sleeping Fox. I've never really cared for this apartment, but now, having him here... It feels like home. Whatever the fuck that is! Like I've ever had any decent definition of home. But this....this is it... this is home. Fox Mulder is the home I've spent my whole wasted, stupid life looking for. I just want to look at him, laying there like a gift from God. 

He kinda looks like hell. 

After waking up, he threw up on the coffee table, specifically on a picture of Meg Ryan. I'm sure it was nothing personal, Meg. At least you don't have to clean it up. 

Then he drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the day. Each time he'd wake up, I swear his eyes would gleam and smile warmly at me. I'm not imagining it, I'm not! It's something that I've only seen him do with Scully, never me. It takes my breath away every time he does it, every time he looks at me like that, without hate, without contempt. It's the sweetest feeling I've ever known. It's like he's giving me back a piece of myself that I never knew was missing. Well, I know now, and I never want to lose it. Never. 

Dusk is falling again. I think he's getting better. And I'm not sure what that means. Where we go from here. 

"Oahhhhhhhhh..." Fox moves his arms, stretching his whole body in a yawn. He turns, blinking his eyes, smiling at me. I lean forward in my seat, smiling back. Ok, I'm lovin' it, but it _is_ weird. This is usually the part where he tries to kill me. Rod Serling? Are you there? "Hi," he says sweetly. "Can I have some...." he points the water bottle just out of reach. "....some water?" 

"Y-yeah. Yeah! Of course!" I stammer, practically tripping over myself to get him the water he wants. I hold the tip of the bottle up to his lips and raise my eyebrows and open my lips, like a mother would to a child, beckoning him to mimic me and open up. 

He grabs the bottle from me, grinning. "I got it," he says with a wink. "Thank you, though." He takes a couple of drinks, slowly, carefully. 

Duh! He _is_ conscious. I don't have to treat him like a baby. I had just gotten so use to tending to him. It was nice. Careful, Alex. You're headed for a long, long fall, asshole, if you think things are going to be _poof_ , wonderful. 

He sits up and scoots back up against the arm of the couch so he's more upright. Without thinking, I'm putting another pillow behind his back, before he's even asked for it. 

"Thanks," he smiles. I've never expected to see him smile at me like that once in my life, and now he's giving them away like it's Christmas Day. "What's your name?" he whispers, his voice sounding haggard. 

Again with the name. If he doesn't know, I'm not sure I wanna tell him. It might snap him out of his confusion, and my thinly constructed house of cards will tumble and fall. My heart speeds up and fear overtakes me. Fuck, I'm scared. I'm scared. I pretended he was mine. My friend, my lover. He's not, and he never will be. I wish I could tell him that I love him and that it would be _okay_. That he would say 'of course' and his eyes wouldn't blacken and grow cold and hard. 

"I...I'm sorry," he says, reacting to reluctance to talk. "I can't remember. My memories... I can't recall." He looks around the apartment. "This place. It's like I've never seen it before." 

He starts to cough, then he looks at me, his eyes studying me. I should look away, but I can't. "And you..." He shakes his head sadly, then looks down at his hands. "The way you never leave my side, the care on your face that I see each time I wake... I must know you, and yet I don't remember." 

My mouth gets incredibly dry. "Y-you don't remember anything?" 

"I'm sorry." And by the tone of his voice he sounds very much so. Like he's letting me down by not remembering. Then he brings his hand up to my face, touching it softly. "You mean something to me, don't you?" 

I nod slowly, my lips parted. 

"We've known each other for the longest time." 

"Yes," I whisper, barely audible. 

"You...you love me?" he asks like a child. 

"Yes," I say, slurring it to get it out of my mouth, as fast as I can. 

"And I... I love you. I love you, don't I?" 

"I--" my voice croaks and my eyes are blurry, why are they blurry? I blink, letting the tears roll down my face. 

"Hey," he says, smiling, his finger running the tear back up. "It's okay." 

I lean in and hug him, holding on as tight as I can to him and this moment, expecting it to vanish like all my hopes and dreams usually do. 

"Ohh! Easy, easy," he says, and I laugh, letting go of him. 

"I just," I gush. "I just never thought I'd hear you...say..." My voice trails off. 

"It's okay. God, I wish I could remember!" He looks at me, beaming. "I wish I could remember...what I know in my heart," he says softly. "I feel it. And I can't even remember your name. Or mine." 

"Alex. That's mine. Yours is Fox." 

"Ouch. I know why I would want to forget that." He takes another drink. "I love you, Alex," he says slowly, methodically, towards a pillow. "That sounds so right." 

"Yeah, yeah it does." Those words. Hey God, what kind of trick are you pulling here? 

"Well, shit," he says, giving me the once over. "I did all right." His eyes, loving, now muddy up with a lust that was never more than a hint before. "Fuck, I'm gay. That's something you don't forget." 

I laugh, full and throaty. I can't believe what's happening to me. I would've given you a head trauma a long time ago if I would have known this would be the result. 

"What?" he grins. "If I'm getting a hard-on looking at you in those dirty sweats, I must be gay, right?" 

My eyes dart to his crotch. Yup. "You save those dirty thoughts for later, Fox. Maybe you'll find out how gay you are." Ok, this is one of those conversations that usually plays in my head. And I'm saying it out loud. Holy shit. 

He holds his head. "Headache." He tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling. "I wish I could remember you, Alex. I feel so...strongly for you and yet I don't remember. Fuck! Everything's lost. It's like losing every photo album you own, only worse." He turns and looks into my eyes, and I lose myself in his gaze. "Our first date, our first kiss.... hell, the way you liked to be kissed." 

I place my hand to his, palm to palm, and our fingers intertwine. I lean on him, our bodies together, my head resting on his chest. He brings his other hand up and runs it through my hair. 

"Well, hey, we can experience everything again. It'll be like we're doing them for the first time." My heart is dancing and I don't care if I'm dreaming anymore. 

"I like doing this," he says, his fingers feeling my hair. "I know that. I wonder what else I like doing?" 

It's the best fucking dream I've ever had. Wordlessly, I get up, still holding tightly to his hand. He lifts up, and I help him, casually, two people who love each other and who might do this every single night. We sleep in the bedroom tonight. Now and forever. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

I wake up and he's gone. I throw back the covers, my hand feeling along the indentation where his body had been. It can't have been a dream. I catch my breath at the sound of water running. The shower. He's in the shower. God, for a second... 

Shit, it worries me how much I need this. I just know I don't deserve it, and I fully expect it to be taken away from me. But until then, I'm going to pretend like he's mine. For good. And he loves me. He said it. No one will ever take that from me. It's _mine_ and I'll cling to those three words echoing in my head until I'm in the fucking ground. 

The water stops, and I hear the slide of the shower door screech open. Damn, I thought I might join him. I smile at the thought. Maybe tomorrow. 

Fox walks into the bedroom, dripping wet and naked. Holy fucking God. I mean, let me clarify. Dammmmmnnnn, he looks nice. 

"I don't remember where the towels are," he says, scanning the room. He stops when he notices me gawking. "Alex?" 

"I, uh, I used the last ones to clean up your puke. Um, you're very naked." Did I just lick my lips? Oh, for the love of Mary! I scoot a bit back under the covers to hide my shameless erection. 

"Yeah, well, I don't have a towel. Besides, I'm sure you've seen me naked on _countless_ occasions, Alex. Am I just too sexy to resist?" He flexes his arms and poses, arching one knee in front of the other, staring into the air like a supermodel. "Do I turn you on, little man, with my incredible body?" he says in a thick, silly German accent. Then he puts his hands on his hips and begins thrusting the air maniacally, his dick slapping up and down. 

"Oh...hheee-hhee...my...hah.... God!! Hahhhhhahhahahhha!" I'm laughing harder than I ever have in my life, but fuck if I ain't turned on, too. "Please! Stop! You're killin' me!" 

"Look!" Fox pulls a washcloth off the dresser. "This is vhat I haff to work with!" He begins dabbing himself off with the small patch of cloth and the sight is just too much. "Hahhhahhhhhhaaaaa!" I point, then my laughter turns silent. He evidently finds this funny 'cause he's now laughing at me. 

"You laugh at my manliness?" he says, threatening me with a damp washcloth. 

"No! No! Back!" I make the sign of the cross with my fingers. "Back, oh sexy one!" 

He lets the washcloth fall to the floor and he stops smiling, his eyes looking at me curiously. A fear wave shoots through me. 

"What? What is it, Fox?" I get up and go to him. 

He blinks and shakes his head. "I...I just had the strangest feeling. Something incredibly familiar just then. But then it vanished." 

"Something bad?" I'm trying not to let my worry show, but I'm failing miserably. 

"No...no. Something good. A happy memory. It was good, Alex." He smiles, and I find it impossible not to smile back at him, his radiance bright enough for us both. I love him so much. 

"Get dressed, angel." I give his ass a quick slap, something that I've always wanted to do. 

"Hey!" he laughs, his dick just a little stiffer. 

"I'll make you breakfast. You can wear some of my clothes." Oh crap. 

"Where are my clothes?" he asks, still amused by my slap. He begins to open drawers, rummaging through socks and underwear. 

"Ummm, Fox." Think fast, dummy. "We, uh, we don't live together--" 

He crinkles his brow. "We don't?" he says, sounding surprised. 

"Yeah, well, I don't think you were, uh, ready for that in our relationship. You're very independent." Real fucking independent. Like, stay the fuck away from me Krycek or I'll kill you independent. 

"Well, that's stupid of me. I can't imagine not wanting to be with you every single moment. Do you have some annoying habits I don't remember?" A few, ha-ha. "Like, do you drink the last of the juice and then put the empty carton back in the fridge?" 

"No, _you_ do that." I wink and pat him on the shoulder. 

"Oh." He looks at the floor and shuffles his feet a bit. "Well, I can change." 

"What?" 

"I can change. I mean, if that's what's been holding us back from living together, then hell, I'll stop doing it. I like sleeping with you. It's nice. You can think about it, though. I don't want to pressure you. God, I have so much to get caught up on. I didn't know I was a slob." He pulls some underwear out of the drawer and begins to put them on. 

I'm speechless. I cannot think of one fucking word to say. Fox Mulder just apologized to me for a bad habit. And he clearly wants to live together. With me. And I'm Alex Krycek. I shake my head quickly, then slap my face. 

"What's for breakfast?" he says, wearing my underwear, smiling. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

The message light on the answering machine is blinking. I look around, making sure Fox is still in the other room, and then turn down the volume. 

I push play. "Krycek! Pick up the phone!" Sorry, pal. This would've been...yesterday? "Well, anyways. You know I always cover your ass, but now I'm getting F.B.I.! Stupid agent nosing around here, asking about _you_. Heh, heh, I envy you. Fine piece of ass, this one." Why detective, I had no idea you swung that way. "I played stupid, but you owe me, Krycek. I expect a bonus. Call me." 

I pick up the phone and hit 2 on the speed dial. C'mon. C'mon. Fuck! Voice mail! "Listen, detective, don't sweat it. The F.B.I. agent... he and I have come to an, uh, an agreement. And don't worry. You will get paid for this." Click. Time for breakfast. I'm starved. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

"Do I like pancakes?" he says, as I put the plate in front of him. 

"Yeah, yeah," I say unconvincingly. He has to. I mean, who doesn't, right? Of course, he'd have to be the one odd weirdo who just detests pancakes for some reason. He puts a slab of butter on his pancake and swirls it around with his fork, watching it dissolve. 

I push the Log Cabin syrup bottle in front of him and take a seat beside him. "It's so stupid," he says, taking the bottle. "I have these weird facts in my head. Stuff about alien abductions, ghosts, werewolves... I must read a lot of Time-Life Mysteries of the Unknown books." 

I snort. I try not to, but out it comes, and he looks at me, his lips parted in a loving smile. "This is not fair. You know everything about me. I'm at a complete disadvantage. You could tell me anything." He drenches his pancake in an obscene amount of syrup. 

"Well, you love to give me head. I mean, day or night, it's all I hear: 'Alex, can I suck your dick? Alex, can I suck you? Pleassssse?'" 

It's his turn to snort. "Uh-huh," he says, nodding. "For some reason, I thought it was the other way around." 

"Oh yeah, occasionally. When you've been good." I watch him take a big bite of pancake, and a droplet of syrup falls onto his cheek. He retrieves it with his tongue, quite deftly. Note to self: Make pancakes more often. 

"Ok," he says between bites. "How did I get..." he points to the bandage on his head. "...this? These are excellent by the way, Alex. Man, you're a good cook." 

I squirm in my seat, delighted to get a compliment from him. All I ever wanted to do is please him, and now I'm doing it. I'm making him happy, and I feel complete. 

"Wait!" he shouts, holding his finger up. "I do remember something. Ohhh, man, it's almost there!" He holds his head, closing his eyes. "Ok, ok!" He opens them and he looks giddy. "You make stir-fry and I tell you I like it even though it's really bad, cause I love you and don't want to hurt your feelings! Ha!" 

I just stare at him, disbelieving. He picked up...on what I said to him while he was out. I don't believe it. He heard it on some subconscious level and now he's treating like a real memory. 

"Ha!" he repeats triumphantly, shoveling another bite in. He then looks back at me, uncertain. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." He lifts his fork with a dripping piece of pancake. "You are the king of pancake making!" 

"Okay, Fox, that's something that you've never called me before. But I like it." 

"So, what about, you know?" He points back up to his bandaged head. 

"Ahh, well. It's a long story." How do I say this? It's so tricky and I have to be very careful. Try and keep it simple. If you can. "You were hit in the head. With a very heavy lamp by two people who don't like me too much. They were trying to hurt me by hurting you." 

He takes in one final bite. "You don't owe a lot on student loans, do you?" He smirks. Same old Mulder humor, new Fox attitude. 

"No, that would be really scary. Oh, there's so much that you won't understand." 

He reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it. "I understand I love you, Alex. And that's enough. Everything else? It's just stupid little details." I squeeze back and take a deep breath. 

"We have a _unique_ relationship, Fox." Understatement. "You're an F.B.I. agent. I'm a...a spy. I sometimes go deep undercover, working for the bad guys and getting classified documents to you... to help with your cases." Ok, Alex, you've just described your wet-dream version of the truth. "Back in America, you head up--" 

"Wait. Wait a minute. We're not in America?" He leans back in his chair, trying to get a hold on the idea. 

"No. You didn't--- Of course not, how could you? We're in Hong Kong." 

"Hong Kong? Oh my god. Wow. Weird." Bless you, Fox. You stay shocked for all of two seconds, then go with it. "Okay, go on." 

"Well, two of my enemies... Micki and Tre, just bad news, Fox...they ambushed us. We barely escaped with our lives. In fact, that's why I didn't take you to a hospital. They'll kill you to hurt me, and the hospitals will be the first place they'll check. 

"I know, Alex," he says tenderly, trying to soothe the guilt away. Ah, if you only knew. 

"We should get you to a doctor. Make sure everything is in working order. Now that you can walk, it'll be a lot easier. I can disguise myself, for one thing." 

"Wow. People want to kill me," he says. "Me! I'm so nice." He gets up and takes his plate to the sink. I follow, even though I haven't even started on my pancake yet. I just want to be with him. "At least I think I'm nice." I stare at a drop of syrup sticking in the corner of his mouth, wanting to claim that drop for myself. "I mean... hey, Alex!" 

"Um, yes?" I say, fluttering my eyelashes at him. 

"You're not listening to me, are you? You're staring at my, chin, or something. 

"You know what?" I say, my eyes narrowing. 

"What?" he says cluelessly. 

I grab him by the waist with one hand and pull him to me, our faces inches from each other. "Oh!" he says. "Oh." 

I tilt my head and lean in, my tongue reaching out, licking the maple drop up, just barely touching his lips. He lets out the tiniest of whimpers, barely heard. "Sticky," I whisper. "But good." His hands are around me, draped comfortably, rubbing my back. 

"Is that all I get?" he breathes. No, God no. Not on your life. Our lips brush up against each other. It's just my lips on his, but I feel it everywhere in my body, a warm jolt of electricity travelling straight down to my cock. 

He parts his lips slightly, opening for me, and I do the same. I raise my free hand up to his face, caressing it, holding it, feeling the beautiful curve of that strong, soft line. I dreamed of this every night since I met you, Fox. I feel a short shock of pleasure as he darts his tongue in carefully. My tongue responds in kind, finding his, coming home to his, where it belongs. It feels like the most wonderful, normal thing to do. 

We kiss, getting lost in it, not wanting to find our way back. I was so cold without you, Fox, but now you're here. You're mine. And I'm yours. The way it should be. The way it will be. 

He pulls away, then comes right back again, kissing me quick and deep, then repeating the pattern, attacking me with kisses. "I.....mmmmm....like....kissing... you." 

"I...can tell," I say, smiling and holding his face with both hands. "You're a good kisser." 

"Don't sound so surprised!" he volleys back playfully. 

"No. I'm not surprised." I always knew you would be. I just never thought I'd get the chance to put you to the test. 

"So, that was our new first kiss. How does it compare?" 

"Oh, it's...it was wayyy better. Better than anything we've ever done before, Fox. Now, let's get you to the doctor or we're _never_ going to get you to the doctor." 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Chapter Three 

Well, that was a fun way to spend the day. MRI, CAT scan, and even then we won't get the test results for at least a week. At least it's over. For now. We made it, and not a peep from my two favorite psychotic assassins. 

I unlock the door to my apartment and turn the knob. Fox continues to just stare at me. 

"Don't take this the wrong way, Alex." 

"Yessss?" 

"You look horrible! The homeless look...it's just not working for you." I look down at my scruffy looking shoes and back up to my mud-splattered, ripped-up trenchcoat. I take off the hood and play with my fake beard. 

"You mean you don't like me with a beard?" I smile. 

"You look like a cross between Rob Zombie and a diseased pirate." 

I swing the door open and limp in, dragging one foot behind me. "Arrrrr, you insult me and me mother!" 

"It is a pretty good disguise, though. I'd _never_ recognize you in that get-up." 

I nod. "Eh? See? And neither would Tre or Micki. Don't worry, I'm going to change. Just for you, though. Sit down. I'll get you a drink." Mulder plops down onto the couch and leans back. He looks tired, but happy. I leave him, walking into the bedroom. 

I throw off my grubbies and put them in a pile at the foot of the bed. I put on my 501's and a black T-shirt. I take a deep breath and pose in front of the mirror, adjusting my hair a bit. "I could _so_ get used to this," I say to myself. "Having him." It's like I'm cheating God or something. "And tonight, I want to have him. I want to fuck Fox Mulder's brains out." 

I walk back out, through the living room and straight to the kitchen. "What do you want?" I yell over the breakfast bar divider. "I'm having a shot...or two... of Jack Daniels, but you should probably take it easy." 

No answer. I look over quickly, that fear tapdancing on my stomach. He's on the couch. Sleeping. Wellllllll, fuck me. Guess someone isn't getting lucky tonight. 

I pour him some water, just in case he wakes up, and me a double-shot of Jack. Grabbing both, I make my way into the living room, still high on having him in my life, in my apartment. And having him want to be there. 

I put his drink down on the table and sit back into my recliner, adjusting the foot rest. Ahhhhh. Fuck, yeah, baby. Archie Bunker had the right idea. 

The stereo sits there in the fading light, silent. I stare at it, not wanting to get up. Some music would be nice. I wonder if Fox likes the same kind of music. Remote. Chair cubby. I fumble down the side into the lazy man's plastic snack holder that came with the chair and pull out a piece of plastic. Score. 

I don't quite remember what CD's were qued up last time I was here. It's been months since I bothered to listen to anything. It's been years since I enjoyed anything. I hit the power button, then the CD button. A little red light blinks on my remote, and a light on the stereo signals back. 

The soft, lazy beat of drums leisurely and steadily wind through the speakers, followed by an organ and a guitar. Mark Knofpler is picking at the strings, setting up the urban scene for one of his everyday stories of people trying to find their way. Dire Straits. One of my favorites, the Rollergirl one, "Skateaway." 

His nasal voice, craggy and whiskey-tinged, seems reverent and bemused at the same time, spooling a sweet, sad little tale of a girl in rollerskates, oblivious to the city around her. She has her music and her skates. The rest of the world? They can go to hell. I like her. 

Ooo, ooo, this line: "But the rollergirl she's taking chances, they just love to see her take them all." Something in that resonates deeply in me, like he wrote the song thinking of me. She makes her own path and finds her own way and the rest of the world watches her go by, just watching, unable to even think of trying to keep up. 

Oh yeah, the guitar, the drums, and then the piano joins in, the melody so sad somehow, sweeping, sneaking in, and you could cry without knowing why you feel the way you do. I sing softly along with the words as he takes me by the hand to the chorus. "No fears alone at night she's sailing through the crowd, in her ears the phones are tight and the music's playing loud..." The guitar seems to cry, and there's a beat, beat, beat as Mark draws a breath, ready to nail it. 

I take a deep breath too, quietly, feeling the overwhelming sense of melancholy in his voice and guitar that I know is to come. 

"She gets rock n roll, a rock n roll station and a rock n roll dream," I sing, softly, looking at a curl of Fox's hair, wanting to touch it and brush it off his forehead, a lifetime's worth of disillusionment gone with it. 

My voice catches, and somebody else picks up the next line. With eyes still shut, his head tilted up towards the ceiling, Fox sings, "She's making movies on location, she don't know what it means..." He knows the song. He knows the words! It shouldn't be a big deal, but somehow it is. It is. 

I smile, and we both catch the next line together, our voices in unison. "And the music make her wanna be the story and the story was whatever was the song what it was..." 

He opens his eyes and sits up, flashing me a toothy grin. Getting up, he comes to me, singing louder and shaking his head with a funny, mock sadness. "Rollergirl, don't worry..." He takes my hand and pulls me to standing, and we serenade each other at the top of our lungs. "D.J. play the movies..." Then our voices go back to a plaintive whisper. "All night long...all night long." 

There's a loud banging on the ceiling and what sounds like some bad Cantonese words being shouted through the walls. We look at each other and burst out laughing. Fox leans his forehead on my shoulder, his laughter silent and wonderful. His other hand is around my waist as sure and as right as anything could ever be. 

"Maybe they're Led Zepplin fans?" Unabashedly, stupidly, I giggle for the first time in my life. 

Quickly, he raises his head and kisses me on the cheek. "I love you," he whispers in my ear, the words as thick and comfortable as an old, favorite coat. 

The words hit me harder than his fists ever did. "I love you," I return, still dumbfounded that I have the permission to say that now instead of just thinking it. That it won't be met with a look of scorn and a fist in the face. "I love you," I say again, greedily, as if my privilege might be revoked at anytime. I can't take anything for granted. 

"I, uh, I think I forgot something in the bedroom," he says, jerking his thumb back towards the hallway. 

He leans in and our foreheads touch and rest on each other. "That is, without a doubt," I whisper, " the _worst_ come-on line I've ever heard, Fox." 

"Heh. That wasn't subtle? I thought it was pretty clever--" I close my eyes and shut him up the way I've always wanted to shut up Fox Mulder, my mouth on his. It's the argument he can't win. He moans helplessly against me as we kiss, and his hands cling to my back, urgently. 

I push him up against the wall, and the stereo shakes, the CD player hiccuping the next song, U2, headed for where the streets have no name. I roughly grab his shirt by the bottom edge and lift. Fox's arms go up, and the shirt goes flying as I peel it off of him. 

My hands run immediately around his waist possessively. I've worked so hard to get to this moment... I can't help but feel greedy about it. I want him so fucking bad. My hands and lips are in disagreement over which part of him to corrupt first. One look into his dazed, darkened, lust-swirled eyes and I see that there is precious little innocent to corrupt. It's as if he's been waiting all these years for me to just up and do this. To take him. Who knew? 

He puts his arms and hands around my shoulders and pulls my head closer till it's resting in the crook of his neck. 

"Shirt," he says and then closes his eyes, forgetting himself as my mouth claims his neck. Kisses, short and hot, pelt his tender white flesh, leaving tiny red welts that burn brightly before fading back to their former paleness. God, I could just devour him. 

He pulls weakly at my shirt. "Off," he says, and it sounds like pleading. I lift my arms, and he lifts it off of me and throws it blindly as hard as he can. Then we touch. 

Our bodies shiver, our naked chests touching each other for the first time. The electricity between our flesh instantly fuels my cock as it strains against my sweats. His lips...I can't stay away...are mine again, I can't believe they're mine. But the way he kisses me back, giving himself as if to answer, "Yes, Alex. Yes. They're yours and always will be." 

Between kisses, I steal a glance down, his cock pressing into me through his jeans. It looks painful. Maybe there's something I can do about that. I hold his head firmly by the back of his neck, kissing his mouth, my tongue not wanting to leave his. Still my other hand is happily free, and I reach down and give his hard cock a squeeze through his jeans. He moans and inches his pelvis forward, thrusting his cock into my hand. Mine. 

It's not easy to do, but if I want something bad enough, I usually get it. With one hand, I fumble with his belt, willing the fucking thing to cooperate. It does, seemingly wanting to be as undone as badly I want it to be. 

I finally break our embrace, having to look at my handiwork. The straps hang there invitingly. It's a good look on him. I get down on my knees, not stopping to breathe, think, anything. Gripping the top edge of his jeans with my teeth, I separate the tight denim from the metal button. 

With one hand, I pull on the willing line of buttons on his jeans, undoing each and every one in an impressive display of dexterity. Button-fly 501s. Gotta love 'em... I wonder if this is what they mean by a zipless fuck? 

His cock springs forward, albeit still behind the thin cotton confines of the underwear that I've lent him. I'm beginning to regret lending him any. 

I tilt in and nuzzle it with my face, running my nose around his hardness, leaving tiny kisses, each one eliciting a feeble whimper, a hint of what's to come. 

I look up at him, but his eyes are shut and he doesn't see me, studying him, memorizing every line of his beautiful face. It's always been beautiful, but the love and the _trust_ , the trust that he's now giving me as easily as if it were a tic-tac... it's... I don't think I've seen anything as precious. 

I raise up and kiss down his stomach, leaving a trail of wet fire that will not be fully extinguished until I engulf his cock with my mouth. I need it in my mouth, and I know he needs it, too. That he's always needed it. God. Chair. Now. 

I stand up, and he blinks at me questioningly. I nod back towards the recliner. "You, uh." 

"Mmmmm" he nods back, shuffling towards the chair. It's amazing that we communicate at all at this point. This mono- syllabic muttering is the best we can muster, but it does the trick. He starts to sit and I stop him, my hand grabbing the loose belt strap. I pull on it ---my little Fox leash--- and his body slaps nicely up against mine. He lets out a tiny gasp. 

Every part of my body is coursing with lust, from the muscles in my legs to the deep aching throb in my crotch and up to my mouth that wants to devour every goddamned inch of him. I swear to God, before the night is through, I will. 

His eyes lower and his lips part, and I don't think I could ask for a better signal. We kiss, torturously slow, savoring the hot wetness of each other's mouths. I feel pleasantly light-headed. God, I want him. I want to taste like him. His hands are around my neck, his fingers running through my hair. 

He rubs his cock against mine, a gentle reminder that it doesn't care for being ignored. I give in to the overpowering compulsion to rip off his jeans. One final kiss and I'm on my knees, my greedy, excited hands pulling his pants down around his ankles. 

He returns a grin, giving me a dopey gaze, and I push my addled lover back down onto the comfy softness of his recliner. I think this is about to become his favorite chair. My mouth grows wet, anticipating his sweet cock inside it. 

I take the bunched up jeans hanging loosely and pull them off completely off his bare feet. Ah, better. Almost. I grab his hips and pull up. 

"Lift," I whisper, and he complies, thrusting his crotch in the air. Finding a snug grip, I pull his underwear, the last obstacle between me and what I want, down and off of him. He quickly spreads his legs apart, granting me full access. 

Delicately, I feather-glide my fingers reverently from the tip down to the shaft, eliciting a whimper-growl. I lean on his taut thighs and lower my mouth down to his engorged dick, tasting the smooth, sweet flesh. 

My lips hover above the hard shaft, teasing him with my tongue, flicking at the tip. He shudders, and I know this exquisite torture is killing him. Hell, it's killing me not to be sucking. He thrusts, just barely, and his cock dances in the air, begging for my wet mouth. 

Well, okay. I envelop that perfectly smooth tip with my lips, and his fingers reflexively scratch against the upholstery of the chair. He breathes in sharply. 

I steady the stiff pink flesh with my hand, giving the base a good squeeze. My tongue darts out, chasing itself and fluttering around the cockhead. 

"Uhhhh," he whines helplessly, cutting through the silence. He follows it with an exhale and shuts his eyes. My own cock twinges when I hear him. 

I lift his cock and lick up the underside, worshipping it, flicking with my nimble tongue. He lays there, his body stiff but weak, rigid but completely powerless at the tip of my tongue. Funny how something so little can make another person an eager, willing slave. Tonight, we're both slaves. To each other. Me to his dick, him to my tongue. 

His hands lie gently on my shoulders. I feel the tension in his hands as he rubs the back of my neck. He's so tender, but I can _feel_ the coiled passion in his fingers. He _wants_ to grab me by the head and fuck my mouth. He's trying so hard to be good and not rush me, and it turns me on even more. 

I steady his cock by wrapping my fingers around the base and slide the cock, now giving up a tiny bit of precum, into my warm, wet mouth. 

"Uhhhhhh," he repeats, moaning through clenched teeth. His body bucks, and his fingers grab me by the hair like he might jerk and pull on it in ecstasy, but again the barely-there control stops him. Instead, his fingers content themselves with running listlessly through my hair. 

I take his cock deep into my mouth, my tongue rushing and darting along the underside of the shaft. He moans and answers by thrusting his hips, his hardened shaft going in as far as it can. I gag slightly, but the feeling passes, and I begin to bob my head up and down carefully, methodically. His fingers wrap themselves in my sweaty hair and begin to push and pull with each thrusting of his hips. Shit, I think I might come right here. 

"Ohhhhhgahhhh," is all he can say in response to the full, plunging friction of my mouth fucking his cock. His hands are pressing down on me harder, faster, and shit-fuck-yeah I want it, God how I want it. Just take it, Fox, take it. 

His fingers let go, then grab ahold again, then release, doubtful. "G-guh...gonna... nooo..." 

I raise up off of him for two seconds, my breath hot on him. "I want you to come for me, Fox." Then I engulf him again, filling the emptiness with his beautiful, swollen cock. It's ready to explode, whenever I want it to. 

And I want it to. All argument dissolves into wordless mewling, and his fingers are back, intertwined with strands of my hair, pushing and pulling in time with the bobbing of my head. 

Come. Do what you've been wanting to do since I first walked up to you and let you know that the case was _mine_ , Mulder. Let me know how you wanted to make _me_ yours. 

"Oh. Uhhh...uhhh... Alllllllllllexxxxx..... mmmm....." He starts to thrust his hips, reaching a fever pitch, and my tongue makes hard, determined circles, spinning around his cock. That's it, he can't hold on, he comes, his voice moaning my name. A steady stream floods my mouth, and I swallow the hot, slippery fluid, gulping it down quickly and hungrily. He pumps into me one final time, an aftershock of pleasure overtaking him. 

He's done, and his eyes are fluttering now. My hair hurts, but I could really give a shit. It's a good kind of Fox just came in my mouth hurt. It's the most intense feeling of my life, and I just want to ride that wave forever. If I keep my eyes shut, maybe I can stay in this moment, trapping it, holding it, denying the next moment its due. But then I could never fuck him. And hell, I have to. We both need this. I let his slightly softening cock slide out of my mouth, taking a breath and looking up. 

"Iloveyou," he breathes, looking down at me, his eyes tearing. I'd answer back at him, but my throat catches, unable to respond to the raw emotion and need in his voice. It's something I've always heard from him just under the surface. Now it's bubbled up like I never thought it would. 

"I..." he starts, his voice wavering. "I'm so...so...sorry!" He starts to cry now, one hand on his head. 

"What? Fox? What's the matter?" 

He shakes his head. "I can't remember. Making love to you. I wish I could. You're everything I could ever want, you know. And I can't remember. It _feels_ like coming home, and yet I have no memory of what home is." 

"Hey, it's all right. Fox, it's okay." I touch his cheek and wipe away a tear. God, what a shit I am. He doesn't remember, suuuuure. I wonder why? Maybe it's because, oh, I don't know, in a previous life he would've sooner shot me than kissed me. And yet, the love he feels is real. I _know_ it just didn't appear out of nowhere. It always existed, waiting for a happy accident to release it. I'm not forcing something that isn't there. 

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asks, his hand taking mine. "You've put up with so much." 

"Yeah," I sigh, unable to keep a grin off my face. "It's a good thing you have such a nice ass." 

He laughs, smiling through the tears. "I guess we have to keep fucking till I remember." He rubs his eyes, bringing back some of the dark lust to them. 

"Guess so," I say coyly. I stand, and Fox's eyes go directly to my crotch, my hard cock threatening to burst out of my sweats. It's hard to miss, really. "I wouldn't mind fucking that sweet ass of yours." I pause. "I mean, I want to do my part to help you with your recovery." 

"Of course," he says, nodding. "That's very admirable of you." 

"I think I forgot something in the bedroom." 

His eyes seem to glint. "That's the worst line--" I don't let him finish and walk out, leaving him to follow me. Well, he better goddamn follow anyways. 

I dig through my chest of drawers, looking for my trusty Astroglide lube. I haven't used it in awhile, but I know it's here. I always keep it on hand, even if I don't get laid that often. It's like a can of Campbell's soup. You may not ever eat it, but it's nice to know it's there in case you're starving. Okay, maybe I should stick to thinking up metaphors when my brain isn't suffering from lust-related meltdown. 

Ah. Ah. Here it is. I hold up the container, the moonlight gleaming off of it. It shines bright, like the Holy fucking Grail. 

"Whatcha got?" Fox says, walking into the room, looking like a dream, completely naked, and semi-erect. 

I set it down and embrace him, pressing my lips to his. I can't take one single beautiful kiss for granted, cause I know it may be my last. "Why...mmmmmmm...don't I show you?" I grab his cock and give it a good squeeze, feeling it harden beneath my fingers. Back for more, eh? 

"Yes, show me, Alex. Do the things I like. The stuff we always do." Ohhhh, Fox. 

I swallow. "Th-the bed. You prefer to fuck on the bed." Any second I just expect him to say, "Yeah, right, Krycek! Get that thing away from me!" But he doesn't. The hungry look in his eyes tells me all that I need to know. I'm not taking this. It's being given. 

He gets on the bed and crawls across it slowly, arching his back slightly. Why, Fox, what a tease you are. "Like this?" he says, looking back. Yes. Yes. Goddamn, exactly like that. He lifts his ass a bit and I'm there running my hand over it. 

He takes a sharp breath but doesn't fight back as I take a nice, firm, full ass cheek in my hand and cup it. I squeeze it then slap it, and he jumps. I watch the red spot evaporate back into milky Mulder flesh. "Um, you like that," I say apologetically. 

"I can tell," he grins. "Do it again." I don't even think about it. My hand comes up and thwacks him again, and he gasps despite himself. His knees tremble a bit and he leans forward to give himself more support with his arms. I get to enjoy the bonus of having him offering his ass to me like this. I climb onto the bed behind him. What a view. 

Leaning in, I growl in his ear, "Such a nice ass." I grip it again, and he inhales sharply. 

Never wanting to be totally empty-handed, I grab his cock and stroke it with my free hand. I begin to leave short, hard kisses along his back, listening to his pants and moans. God! 

My cock is straining to get out of these restrictive sweats and into Fox. Shit, I wish I didn't have to stop touching him to strip, but we all have to make sacrifices, I suppose. 

"Jus'...minute..." I say, sounding as inarticulate as a drugged out crack whore or the U.S. president at a press conference. I let go of him, but I'm still unable to keep from staring at him. Fox Mulder, naked and leaning on all fours, waiting for me to fuck him. Jesus wept. 

Practically falling off the bed, I pull off my sweats and underwear, hopping and then throwing them across the room, headed for, where? I don't give a fuck. 

I reach for the Astroglide and open it, squeezing a dollop onto my hands. It's kind of cold. I rub my hands together, warming it up and greasing my hands up at the same time. Niiiice. I squeeze another blob onto my hands and the bottle slides out of my hands and onto the floor. For the second time in my life, I start to giggle. 

"You ok back there?" he whispers good-naturedly over his shoulder. 

"Yeah. Don't you worry." I slide a lubricated hand on my eager cock, slicking it up for Mulder's ass. I slap his ass again and he lets out a tiny yelp, more out of surprise than pain. 

I climb on the bed again, wasting no time. I grab his ass and begin to caress along the crack softly, teasing with my fingers, getting it nice and slippery. I let my fingers, messy with the slick goo, slide up and down the crack of his ass. I find his passage and slip two fingers into it, gently. 

"Uhhhh," he yells, bucking beneath me. He digs his fingernails into the comforter, his face wincing. 

I finger him, now adding a third. They slip in and out softly, carefully, priming him for what I know he really wants in there. For what I want in there. "Yes," he whines, answering a question that no one has voiced. 

I can't help myself. I grab his cock with my free hand and begin to jerk him, the lube allowing me a good, powerful glide. 

I nuzzle my penis at the entrance of his ass, lightly touching him, pushing away my fingers that are working him. It's all I can do to keep myself from shoving it in. Fuck, I got to. I got to. 

I hover above his ass for seconds before bringing the tip up to his now-quite-slick passage. I tease him, pushing into him just barely. 

"UHH!" he shouts, before his voice disappears altogether in a silent scream. He clenches his eyes shut and begins to breathe through his teeth, making a sharp hissing noise. 

I take a deep breath of my own and then push the full length of my shaft slowly in, then rest, forcing myself not to move. Niiiice and easy. Let him get used to me. Wait for the burning to fade. Oh God, oh God, fuckfuckfuck. 

"Uhhhhhh, " he groans as I move slightly. He's tight, but that's why they invented lube. Lube. It makes everything better. 

His face winces from the initial pain. "It'll get better," I promise. "Really, really better." I slowly pull out, leaving nothing but the tip in him, then I push it back in, as far as I can. I begin to pump, giving in to the urge that I've bottled up for so long. 

"Yesyesyes, " he whines, and I know that the burn that he first felt is now flowering into pleasure. 

"Uhh." For you. "Uhh." My love. "Uhhh." I grunt in his ear, low and guttural, like an animal, with each steady thrust. My breaths come out shallow and hot on his back. 

I increase the frequency of my thrusts, catching up slowly to the rapid speed of my hand around his cock. From arms to elbows, he firmly entrenches himself on the bed so he can fully absorb each steady push of my torso. He wriggles his ass up slightly, trying to give me easier access. You're a prince, dear. I bite my lip and try and concentrate. If I can get it just right I can hit his gland. Why the fuck did they have to make the g-spot so hard to get to? 

My heart is beating rapidly as I fuck him, his sweet mewling mixing with my whiskey-rough grunts. We make beautiful music together, I think. He tilts his ass just so and I move a little to the right, the leverage I've gained minute, but crucial. He feels the results immediately, and I know I'm doing it right as he cries out in pleasure. 

"UUhhhhhhhhhh! Fuhhhhh!" Oh, that's it. My cock tenses as it reaches its crescendo, and I know I can't stop the coming orgasm. The full weight of me is slamming into him now, feverishly pounding him into the creaking bed. The neighbors are gonna love this. 

My fist is gripped tightly around his cock, begging him to come for me again. I'll squeeze it out of you yet, Fox Mulder. 

"Uh. Uh. Uh." He grunts, his face in the comforter, as I knead his cock into submission, and I feel myself losing it along with him. Every vestige of control is abandoned, finally, and he lets out a cry of surrender as his come shoots out of him, covering my hand and spurting onto the bed. 

It's all I need. As if I could ever need anything besides Fox, naked and on my bed, screaming syllables that could be my name. I let go of his cock and use both hands to dig into the sides of his ass as I vigorously pump. 

With one last thrust, I shoot into him, my come filling him, warm and deep. His body bucks in response, eager to milk every drop out of me. I give it all. It's yours. I'm yours. 

We stay there in our wonderfully erotic tableau, unable to move or not wanting to. I don't think it really matters which. Finally, I let go of his ass. 

"I..." he says. "I think that's something I like." And I can hear the sly leer in his voice. 

"Yeah," is all I can think of to say back. "Yeah." Fuck, I'm spent. Spent, but happy. This is how happy people feel. I've always wondered. 

I pull out of him slowly, and he kneads the bed with his fingers. 

"Uhh. Uhh. Ahhhh," he breathes, and then, like that, I'm out. I collapse on the pillow beside him. He makes a move to get up off the bed, but his knees buckle and he falls into a heap, landing on my arm. He drapes his arm and leg over me, and I curl the trapped arm around him, embracing him and drawing him closer. 

"Can't. Move," he grins, his breath hot and wonderful on my neck. 

"Good," I say. "I don't want you to leave." My mind is like code, all numbers and letters not wanting to line up. All that will come into focus is him. Fox. With me. The way it should have always been. "I love you," I say, making the tremendous effort to lean over and kiss him on the forehead. "What are you thinking?" 

He's silent for a second. "That I'm on the wet spot and it's really cold." 

I start giggling and it turns into a laugh, full and throaty. Such a Mulder thing to say. He laughs into my neck, tickling me, causing me to laugh even harder. 

"Hah," he sighs, wiping his eyes. "That and I love you." His voice gets quiet. "Thank you for saving me, Alex." 

I stare at the ceiling, my intense high unable to completely erase the niggling sliver of worry in my gut. It could change at anytime, Alex, the little voice says. Any time, you stupid prick. Let's look at it this way. Have things _ever_ gone your way? For long, I mean. Shut up! He's _mine_. He loves me! 

We lay there, drifting in and out of sleep. Unsure of the time, I get up. He lifts his body up, looking at me, his face still full of love, despite the little demon in my head filling me with self- doubt. 

"I'll get you a washcloth," I say, retreating into the bathroom. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Chapter Four 

I wake up feeling better than I ever have before. My hand pats the side of the bed. Empty. But the shower's running! Take that, you little demon! I'm horny again, but I better give Fox a break. Later. Maybe after breakfast. Maybe we'll do some shopping. Get him a nice leather jacket. 

I walk over to the chest of drawers and open the bottom one. It's got a few T-shirts, which I move out of the way to get to what I really want. At the bottom is Fox's stuff. A cell phone, his F.B.I. badge, gun, and a pack of Wrigley's gum. It's kinda stupid and a little bit creepy to keep this stuff, but I can't help it. I like to know it's there for some reason. It's something tangible of his that I can somehow possess without fear of it leaving. They're just objects. I quickly shut the drawer. 

The shower's still running when the phone rings. I pick it up. "Yeah," I say, my voice still groggy with sleep. 

"Krrrrrycek. Just who I wanted to talk to." 

"Detective. Just who I didn't. I just got up, you know." I have better things to do here. 

"It's noon!" 

"Yeah, well, I was up late last night." I smile, despite having to talk to this sleaze. "Listen, if this is about your money, I'm dropping it off today." 

"Oh, good, good. But that's not why I called, Krycek. I got your message about the F.B.I. agent." He pauses. 

"Annnnd?" 

"Well, you seem to think I'm talking about a man. I'm not. It's a woman who's been looking for you." 

Oh god. No. I grab the side of the dresser, a sense of vertigo and nausea overtaking me. 

"What's her name? I wrote it down. Oh, yes. An Agent Scully. Very beautiful. Anyways, she seemed very focused on finding you." 

Shit. Shit. We gotta leave. Pack. Get out of the fucking country. Oh shit, I'm going to lose it all. The room... feels like the walls are closing in. 

"Hello? Krycek? You there?" I say nothing and hang up the phone. I rush over and grab my sweats and pull them on. You stupid little fuck, my demon says, laughing. You knew this would happen. You can't be happy. You don't deserve him and you know it! 

I open the closet and pull out a duffel bag full of emergency cash. This is all I need. I'll buy new stuff later. Wait, Fox's things. I frantically pull open the drawer and start throwing his stuff into the bag. Then I layer some clothes on top of his stuff and the money. Zipppp. 

Then the doorbell buzzes. I look at the bedroom wall, willing the sound to go away. Then the shower shuts off. Oh, fuck. The doorbell buzzes again, this time longer, the finger holding it down for a longer time. 

"Just a minute," I yell both to the door and Fox. I don't know if he heard it in there. Gotta see who it is. But I think I might know. 

I tiptoe into the living room, which is silly, because I know they can't hear me anyways, barefoot on carpet. It just feels safer somehow. I lean in, close to the door, and peek through the eyehole. Scully's looking right at me, her gaze burning a hole through the door. I don't even have time to take a breath before the door slams into me, the force of it knocking me to the floor. Blood trickles out of my nose and onto the carpet. 

She's over me now, gun drawn and steadied by two hands trying not to shake. "Where is he?" she shouts, her voice shrill and exhausted. I say nothing. 

"Where _is_ he?" she yells, cocking her weapon and jabbing at the air with it. "Where's Mulder?" 

"Scully, please..." is all I can manage, knowing I've lost everything. 

Fox walks in from the bedroom, wet and naked. "Still no towels, Alex. I swear--" He looks at her pointing her gun at my head and reacts immediately, coming at her from behind. 

She tries to swing around, but it's too late as his strong arm, still dripping with water, grabs her by the wrist. He slams her arm into the wall, and she loses her grip on the gun. It falls to the floor and slides under the couch. He takes her other arm and holds it behind her back, shoving her face-first into the wall, the weight of his remaining arm on the base of her neck and shoulders. 

"Uhhh," she breathes into the wall. She makes an attempt to struggle, but he pulls up on her arm and the pain takes the fight out of her. 

"I won't let you hurt him!" he shouts at her. She stops moving and slowly turns her head around, trying to get a look at her attacker. 

"Muh-mulder?" He lets go of her and stumbles back, his face confused. She turns slowly. "Mulder, it's _me_ ," she whispers. 

He swallows, and my heart begins to sink. "Do I know you?" 

"Mulder, you've been hurt." She motions to the bandage on his head. "You're not yourself. You don't know what you're doing." 

"I know you were trying to hurt Alex!" 

She looks at me, then back at him. "Alex? Since when do you call Krycek, Alex, Mulder?" She turns back towards me and I want to slink into a hole. "What did you tell him?" 

"I," I stutter. "I--" 

"Mulder, what did he tell you?" She turns to him, and her cross swings, catching the noonday's sun streaming through the window. 

He blinks rapidly, just staring at her. "I...I know you, don't I?" He holds his head as if in pain. "Oh fuck, I know you. I know you, Scully! Scully!" He crumbles to the ground, head in his hands. "How could I ever forget you?" he says through tears. 

She moves to him, her hands on his shoulders. I make a move to go to him to, then stop. Fuck. I don't know what to do. 

"It's...it's all coming back, Scully. You're my partner." He smiles up at her. Just like that she gets his smile now. "God, you mean so much to me. How'd you get so far from me, Scully?" 

"I'm here now, Mulder. There hasn't been a day since you left the U.S. that I haven't looked for you. " She brushes a wet strand of hair off his forehead. "I knew I'd find you." 

"I couldn't remember anything, and then Al--" His smile fades and his eyes grow glinty and hard, resting on mine. I can almost feel my soul shattering into a million pieces. As good as it's been, the pain is more intense. What was I playing with? Why the fuck couldn't I stop myself? 

"I did it because I love you," I whisper quickly. 

"You lied to me!" he yells, his face twisted with rage and pain. "You took advantage of me," his voice quivers. 

"Fox," I plead. 

"You don't get to call me that, Krycek!" he roars, his voice echoing throughout the apartment. I'm shaking now, lying on the floor. Pathetic, so pathetic. Pull it together, Krycek... Aw fuck it, I'm never going to get it together ever again. Who the hell am I kidding? 

Scully looks taken aback. I'm not sure if it's my vulnerability or Fo--, Mulder's rage. Even in my mind, I know I'm not allowed to call him that. 

"Mulder, let's go." Scully stands. "You're freezing. You need to get dressed." He nods and lifts up, taking her outstretched hand. I don't know if his memories have fully flooded back to him yet, but this... the relaxed body language between them... I hate her for it. She gets it effortlessly. I have to steal it. 

He gets up, not looking at me, and he hasn't left the room yet, but he's gone already, as far away and as unreachable as he can get. I'd run to him, crying, if I could, fight for him, make him understand how much I love him. But I can't move, and he's already gone. In every single fucking way it matters, he's gone to me. 

He goes into the bedroom to dress. Scully looks at me, not sure what to say. I lay on the floor and curl up into the fetal position, gently rocking the world away. 

"Krycek..."she says, her voice gentle and sympathetic. 

"Guh-go. You win. Go." 

"What you had with Mulder. It wasn't right. It was stealing. Maybe you do love him, I think maybe you do. But this wasn't right." 

"Just go," I argue weakly, her words confirming all of my own deepest thoughts. I couldn't get him any other way. He wouldn't let me. He loves me, but he could never forget or forgive. He's throw it all away just to be angry at me. It's easier to be angry than to open himself up to being fucked over by me again. 

I *don't* deserve him. Plain and simple. I close my eyes, defeated not by Scully, but by myself. No other words are said. I lie there, waiting for them to leave, and they eventually do. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

**TWO WEEKS LATER...**

He sits there looking as giddy as he ever has behind that desk. It's scary. I don't like his giddy face. 

"Alex," he says in a short, clipped tone. "We've missed you." The old man celebrates the same way he celebrates everything. He takes a cigarette from a beat-up pack of Morleys and holds it between two fingers, lighting it. He puts it to his lips and takes a puff. I'm characteristically silent. 

He exhales the smoke towards the ceiling, indulging in a moment to watch the smoky trail waft up past his head. I walk in and take a seat across from him. 

"You don't call, you don't write...." He trails off, a hint of a smile on his face. "Your birthday came and went." 

"Mmm." I nod, looking bored. 

"We got you a card." He searches through a desk drawer and pulls out a big red envelope. He slides it across the desk, and I look at it curiously. "Go on," he motions. 

This fuck gets creepier every day. I pick it up, hold it to the light, then look at him. He smiles. I open it up and see a very colorful picture of Garfield, grinning, holding a cupcake. Inside is a gift certificate to... Chili's? I look back up at him with a stunned, stupid look on my face. 

"We were going to go with T.G.I. Fridays, but the servers told me I couldn't smoke." He dares me to laugh, staring me down. 

I nod slowly, tucking the card into my jacket and wishing for a severe case of amnesia to hit _me._

"Sorry, I've been busy. Out of the country. But, I'm back in D.C. now." And that's as much as I'm going to give him. 

"Ah yes. We heard. Something to do with Fox Mulder?" I swear he's trying not to grin at me... as if he knows every single intimate detail. I wouldn't put it past him. 

"Who?" I say. 

"Mulder. Proverbial thorn in our side?" 

"Nope, never heard of him," I say darkly, leaving no room for discussion. Smokey is the last person I want to discuss Fox Mulder with. "Why I'm here..." 

"Yes, yes." He squishes the cigarette, half-smoked into the ashtray. He wastes so many cigarettes just so he can have the dramatic effect of lighting another one. 

"I'm back. I need jobs. Anything. The more dangerous, the better. I'm looking to make a splash." 

"Really?" He pauses to look at his nails. "Excellent." He looks back at me. "I'll let you know." He gets up, signaling to me that our meeting is over. 

"I haven't given you my new number yet." 

"Oh, we know how to contact you if we need you." He's so pleased with himself. "I've got a two o'clock with Kersh, so if you don't mind..." He points to the door. 

"Gladly." I push the chair away and leave, knowing I'm going to smell like cancer all day long. Such a passive-aggressive fuck. I disappear, so he gives me the cold shoulder treatment. We should all be on Oprah. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

I'm sitting at the kitchen table of my new apartment. It's a hole, but it's got the luxury of having four walls and a ceiling. Very posh. I've got a bean bag smack dab in the middle of the "living" room. It should be called the "not quite dead, but almost there" room. And my stereo. I have that, and when I'm feeling particularly masochistic, I'll get a bottle of Scotch and listen to Dire Straits full blast. It's fun! 

When I'm really up for a fun night, I'll spread his things on the bed and look at them. I'll stare at the picture on his badge for just the longest time. I'll pick up the phone and talk to him. "Oh, you'll be home soon, Fox? Ok? I have that stir- fry waiting! Haha! I know! That's why they call it _stir_ fry! You actually have to stir it!" 

Today is a good day though, because I'm not acting like a looney toon. Well, relatively speaking. I'm doing something normal. Like eating a Hot Pocket. 

My cell phone rings as I shove the last bite of processed goodness in my mouth. I pull it out and answer it, looking at the incoming number. Danny. Maybe he's heard something. 

"What's the word, Danny? Anything good?" 

"Nah, nothing, K. I think Morley's doing something freaky with abductees down in North Carolina, but there's no hard data. And those guys shoot to kill, so you don't wanna fuck with em." 

"Ah, well, you only live once, right?" Info like that, Fo--, Mulder, Mulder! Dammit! He would kill for that. I could get it for him. Maybe I will and send it to him anonymously. 

"But that's not why I called, K. Some bitch been poking around here asking for you. Been leaving business cards, a letter even! Damn fine, you know what I'm sayin'? But she also looks like she could kick your ass if she wanted to, K. So, I leave her for you, man! Hah-ha! You fuck wit her." 

"Hehh, I think I know exactly who you're talking about. She's not my type though. She could kick your ass, though, so watch out." I rub my nose absent-mindedly. "I'm passing the shop later. I'll swing by and pick up that stuff." 

What could the bitch want, I wonder? Blow job tips perhaps? Maybe I'll get lucky and she's trying to find me to shoot me in the head. 

I put on my leather jacket and grab my wallet and keys. Guess I'm going now, huh? Shit, I'm nervous. I'm trying to forget the fucker. Fuck! If I had furniture, I would throw it. As it is, throwing my beanbag in frustrated anger would just be silly and not very satisfying. 

Guess I'll have to find somebody to hit. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Danny owns his own TV repair shop, but he's got a brother who's a courier for the Syndicate. Gets me all sorts of information. I don't think I've ever been as interested in anything he's given me as I am today, however. 

I walk in and he's hard at work devouring a take-out salad. "Big K!" he shouts, and I shake my head at him. 

"I told you not to call me that, Danny. It makes me feel like I'm a blue light special." 

"Aww, K, you ain't got no sense of humor. That's your problem, you know." 

"That's one of my many problems, buddy," I correct him. "You've just scraped the tip of the iceberg. Now where's my stuff?" 

"Hold on, hold on." He sets down his plastic fork and wipes a smear of dressing on a napkin. "Fuck, can't you see I'm eatin' here?" He starts looking through beat-up boxes of papers and hands me a couple of colorful ones. 

I take them. They're pictures of Winnie the Pooh, horribly colored blood red, looking very much like a Hundred Acre Wood massacre. I look at him, confused. 

"My niece colored that for you. Did it in preschool. Thought it was sweet." He continues to dig, and I turn the picture to see if a different angle might make it look more aesthetically pleasing. 

"It, uh, looks like a psychopath colored it." 

"Haha! Well, you should know, K. You should know. Ah here! I gotcha stuff." He lifts a plastic grocery bag in the air and shakes it me. 

"Nice filing system, Danny." 

"Hey, I do all right, ya know. Do my own taxes and everything." 

He holds the bag in front of me, and I grab it, ripping it open. Maybe it has something to do with him. What else could it be? God, obsess much, Alex? 

There's a business size envelope, sealed, and several business cards with Scully's name and cell on them. 

"That a love letter or something? Or divorce papers?" Danny starts laughing way too hard at this, but I'm only hearing every other word. 

I let the bag fall, and I fumble with the envelope, making a slit with my finger, ripping it open. In it is one sheet of paper. I unfold it and sit down on a ratty lawn chair that Danny has set up for customers. It creaks underneath me, threatening to break, but somehow it holds. 

I look at the letter, afraid and excited to read it. 

"Krycek, 

This is Scully. I need to find you. It's Mulder. He's not doing well, Krycek, and I think you know why. He's not eating. He barely sleeps anymore. He misses you so much, and I know he wants to talk to you but is unsure how to do it. He sits at home and waits for the phone to ring, hoping it's you somehow. I think he wants to forgive you, Krycek..." 

My hands are shaking, my heart is racing. Deep breath, Alex, deep breath. Don't get your hopes up. 

"...I think if he saw you, heard your voice again, he'd be willing to give you a chance. I can't believe I'm writing this, but even though your relationship was founded on deception, I can't deny the love that you two feel. And I know that ignoring what you have isn't the answer." 

Oh. My. God. That's as close to an endorsement from Scully as I'll ever get. She's blessing us. Suddenly, I don't hate her anymore. I wanna kiss her. 

"Please call me, Krycek. I think I can set up a meeting. 

Trusting you, 

Scully" 

Oh fuck, oh fuck! If there's even a chance! Do I have a choice? I look down at the business card. Nope. I pick it up, and within seconds I'm punching the numbers that will connect me to her and hopefully to him. Just like that. One second I'm in hell, the next I see a window open. Now if I can just reach it! 

It rings. And rings. And rings. "C'mon! C'mon! Pick up the phone!" 

Danny shakes his head and throws his empty salad bowl in the trash. "Boy, you got it _bad_. You one sad muthafucker." 

"Heh. Tell me---Scully?" 

"Hello?" a male voice answers. 

"I'm..." It can't be... she said... 

"Who is this?" he says. 

"Muh-mulder?" Silence. A long awful silence stretches from here to the Great Wall of China and back. But I'm sure he can hear the rabid rat-a-tat-tat of my heart. 

He takes a long, audible breath before speaking. "Krycek." His voice sounds weak and unsure, full of doubt. I stand there stupidly saying nothing. I don't know what the fuck to say. We do it together. Then I realize. He's not _hanging up_. Holy fucking shit. 

The knowledge gives me courage. This is it. Now or never. Suck it up, tough guy. Tell him all the things you've been thinking. You'll never get another chance. I take a deep breath and throw all my cards on the table. Hell, if I'm going down, I might as well go down swinging. 

"I miss you so much, Mulder. I know I've been shitty to you, god knows I'm the king of shit. I betrayed you, but you have to know this important thing. Every time I did it, I did it out of weakness. Weakness and love. I never intended to hurt you. I was stupid. I wanted to live in a fantasyland with you. Forever." My voice catches and I can feel the tears well up. "It was nice. Wasn't it?" 

Silence. This time only lasting an eternity. Then, one word. "Yeah." He said yeah, tiny and small, a crack in the dam. "It was nice." 

My heart swells. Keep talking. Give him everything, Alex. Don't give him a chance to reject you. Tell him how you feel. 

"And I'd do anything to get back to there, Mulder, fucking anything to make things right. I'd do things the right way, not just take them from you. God, I miss you. From the second you left, I feel like a part of me has been ripped away. Something important that I can't live without. I need you in my life, Fox Mulder." Oh, fuck, it felt so good to say Fox. 

"I..." is all he says, looking for the words. I don't let him finish. I can't because my mind is finishing that sentence for him. I...can't, Krycek. I...hate you, Krycek. 

"It's like I can never go home again, Mulder. Because my home is with _you_. You, Mulder!" I'm sobbing now, the tears running down my face. "I never knew what home was. People would talk about it, but I just. Didn't. Know. Two weeks ago, you showed me what home was, Mulder. It's you. It was always you. You're every goddamned thing that's been missing from my soul." 

"I..." he repeats and I hear his throat catch. "I...was going to say I want to come home. I want to come home." 

"I know you hate me and can never forgive me, but you've changed me. All I've really needed is for you....what?" 

I hear the smile in his voice. "I want to come home, Alex. I don't care about what happened. All I know is that for the last two weeks all I've done is think about how complete it felt to have you in my life." 

I actually gasp. I've just gasped, and I smile through my tears. "Oh, Mulder..." 

"Fox. You... you deserve to call me Fox." 

"Okay," I say, in a small but happy voice. "Fox. We need to get together. Now. I'm in D.C." 

"Anywhere, Alex. I need... I've been going through the worst kind of withdrawals." 

"Me too. I've been a fucking wreck. How about Chili's? I've got gift certificates. Heh." 

"Okay," he laughs. "Like I said, anywhere. I need to kiss you. Let you know how much I love you. How much I've always loved you. Thank you for showing me a part of myself that I didn't know was there." 

He's thanking me now. I can't believe it. As right as it felt before, it feels stronger and more pure now. I've got Fox Mulder's love shooting through my veins and I don't think I'll ever be the same again. 

"Meet you there in thirty? I think there's one on Central." 

"I'll be there in fifteen," he says and hangs up. I hold the phone up to Danny who is raptly staring at me. 

"Shit yeah. You need a Kleenex or sumpthin'?" He hands me a box before I can answer. "Man, this Scully must be one hot chick, to have you blubberin' like that." He shakes his head. "I've seen it all, my friend. Now you better get a nice piece of ass after all that." 

I lift my head and laugh. God, I feel so good. I feel like I've been let out of a prison. For the first time in my life. That's what hope feels like. That's what love feels like. 

Now I know. Now I know. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

The ever-lovin' End. 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to David S. 


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